Tonality
by Imogen74
Summary: Set after Jon Snow leaves Dragonstone, Daenerys and Tyrion talk well into the night. Tynaerys. Probably just a two shot. "M" for language.
1. Chapter 1

_A One or Two Shot, set in Westeros, with Jon Snow leaving Dragonstone and Daenerys not caring._

* * *

She watched as they rowed away, and whatever flicker of sadness she may have felt quickly diminished the further the waves took them, much like the ebb of the sea.

Daenerys had chosen her path, and though it was an occasionally brutal one, she needed to allow it to guide her. She was not faint of heart.

"Khaleesi?"

Her gaze fell at her name. She felt less like a Khaleesi at that moment than she had ever done. Even when Drogo was Khal. "Yes?"

"Lord Tyrion was just asking for you."

She nodded, turning to see Missandei smiling at her. "Thank you," she said. "Walk with me, won't you?"

Her counselor fell into step next to her. "What troubles the Queen?"

"I'm not a Queen, Missandei. Not yet."

"You are to those whom you rule."

She smiled at her. "What did you think of the King of the North?"

"Not much."

"No? Why do you object to him?"

"I don't object to him. I've just known men like him."

Daenerys paused at this. "Have you?"

"Oh, yes. If you look closely, you can see ghosts of many men in his face. He's very _noble_ , yes. But that can be foolish. And he doesn't know what he wants," Missandei looked at her. "And that, my Queen, is dangerous."

"He claims he wants peace. He wants to fight the Night King…"

They entered the fortress. "Yes…but that is his immediate concern. I'm referring to what he wants afterwards. That is less clear. Probably because he has no idea who he is," and they walked through a long passageway.

Daenerys wished that she had some recollection of the place. Something that made it familiar to her ears, or eyes…even the scent of it was foreign. "Who knows who they are, really?"

"I can think of a few people," and Missandei opened the map room door. "I have brought her, Ser."

"Ah, Missandei. Thank you," Tyrion greeted her from the chair by the hearth.

"Brought me, have you?" Daenerys looked crookedly at her. "I am not brought by many."

"No, perhaps guided is a better term," Tyrion sounded impatient. "But, while we are arguing semantics, Westeros is in shambles. Let's discuss these matters, if you will," he proffered his hand and Daenerys sat across from him.

She heard the door close with a click. "So," she rubbed her palms on her thighs, the thick woolen material soft against them. "Westeros is in shambles, hm? What do you propose we do about it?"

"Cersei is going to be desperate. We should wait to strike a day or two. Any immediate retaliation will be severe. Give her men the chance to desert her."

She looked at him crookedly. "What makes you certain that they will?"

"There is little likelihood that Jaime will stay with her while she is unraveling. He still believes that she can be saved, but that will soon be dismissed by him. Cersei cannot be. And Jaime is no fool."

Daenerys sighed. She looked into the hearth at the smoldering fire. She wanted to be warmer…and part of her missed Essos. "It's cold here."

"Winter is coming," he paused, smiling. "So said Ned Stark."

"What of the Starks of the North?"

His face fell. "I'm sorry?"

"What is your opinion of them?"

Tyrion shrugged. "They're a good sort."

"Noble?"

"If you like."

She smirked a touch. "I have no designs on Ned Stark's bastard son, the King of the North. But I feel as though we are destined to work together, so I need to know what I am dealing with."

"I never said that you held anything untoward relating to Jon Snow. But he is full young, and I do not mean his age."

"What do you mean, then?"

Tyrion took a long drought of his wine and looked at her. She was lovely, to be sure. He had felt more than one pang regarding her; and whores? The mere thought was more than abhorrent to him. It was absolutely repulsive. She had a hold on him, and he didn't like it. He needed to be as formal as possible.

Because there was absolutely no chance that Daenerys Targaryen would ever consider him as anything other than her advisor. And he was in danger of losing that, as well.  
"I mean that is ill versed in the ways of the world."

"Ill versed?" she chuckled.

"I fail to see what's funny, Daenerys."

"It's a funny way to put it. There are many ways of the world, and who can be said to be well versed in most?"

"I am."

She looked at him very deliberately. Yes. Tyrion Lannister was likely more wise than most. "And is your understanding from your extensive reading, or is it from living in the world?"

"Both, I imagine," he poured more wine.

"It is a lacking Hand who neglects to offer his Queen some of his drink," she eyed the wine.

"Apologies," and he immediately poured her some.

Daenerys sipped long. "You think I made a mistake sacking the harvest."

"You did what you deemed the right thing."

"You disapprove."

"I do not, but I wish you would have listened to my advice more earnestly, rather than that of a young King who knows little of diplomacy or political nuance."

"They are your family. I understand that you are concerned. I acted in anger, and now …I feel a bit…humbled in my hubris."

He stared at her a moment. "I have no family," he said, draining and refilling his cup.

Daenerys swallowed. "You do, Tyrion. It does no good to deny them. I attempted that, and it only haunted me, allowing me to see the many connections I had, rather than the differences I tried to highlight."

"What do you mean?"

She smiled very slightly. "I mean that I am a Targaryen. I have a temper and a touch of madness."

"Perhaps we all have a touch of madness," he said softly.

"Some more than others, no doubt."

He raised his glass. "Indeed. And what fools we are to deny it," he sipped.

Daenerys considered him. "Will you always drink?"

"My Queen, that is like asking if I will always breathe, to which I must respond, yes. Until I die."

"But are you so sad?"

"Sadness is not the cause for my drink," he looked at her quizzically.

"What then?"

"Self loathing."

She sighed. "You hate yourself."

"Of course."

Daenerys shook her head and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, cup still in hand. "Why? When there are so many in this world who should, and don't? Why must you hate yourself, when there are those who kill without conscience, who are desperate for some unnamed something…why do good men hate themselves?"

"A good man am I?" he smiled at her. "My lady, you cannot possibly know what it's like to be unwanted," he dropped his eyes at that.

She sat back now, sighing. "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure."

"No? Have you always doubted the love of another because you were certain that another could come quite easily and supplant you? Have you doubted the veracity of friends because you think that they pity you? Have you lost the love of those who should love you without question because they believe you to be a hindrance to the family? Have you looked at yourself in a mirror, and turned away because you could not bear to gaze at the reflection a moment longer?" he drank deeply of the wine.

Her eyes had gone wide. She had no idea they had so much in common. "Yes."

"Excuse me?" his brow furrowed.

"Yes. I have done those things. Shall I explain?"

"I …" he was rendered mute.

She stood, and put her cup down on the table, poured herself some more, then walked over to the window gap overlooking the sea. "I loved Drogo, but I had been sold to him. For the first half of our marriage, I wondered nearly every night if someone else more experienced would gain his eye. My friends…I had so few, and still, only a couple whom I trust. Enemies were always everywhere, and I was quite certain that people pitied me. A widow, grieving the loss of her husband and son…and I did not know who to believe. My brother should have loved me, but sold me for the Iron Throne. And when I look at myself," she turned and went back to her seat, sat down, and sipped. "Even now, I wonder who I am looking at. I have a vast amount of titles. I have done some good, but at what cost? Who am I, really? And am I worthy of the loyalty and service of those whom I lead?"

Tyrion was dumbstruck, and stared at his cup.

"So you see, Lord Tyrion. Though it may not be my face that holds my shame, I have it. And it stews beneath my skin."

"I'm sorry. I did not know."

"How could you?" she smiled at him as he looked back up at her. "And your face is not shameful."

"Not to you, perhaps."

"Nor should it be your shame."

"What should, then?"

"I do not know. But I do not see ugliness when I look at you. I see someone who has lived in the world, lost a few times, but survived on his own cunning. I see wisdom," she nodded.

He felt himself blush despite himself. "We are dreadfully off topic, Your Grace."

Daenerys dropped her gaze, then looked at the fire. "Must we?"

"Must we what?"

"Speak of war."

"This is your invasion, Daenerys."

"Dany," she said softly.

"Pardon?"

"Call me Dany," she looked back up at him. "It's been too long since anyone has called me Dany. I have all of these names, but no one calls me that."

"As you like," he nodded.

She smiled, and looked at her hands.

And he was suddenly struck by her youthfulness, and how much of an idealist she was. "What would you care to discuss, Dany?"

"Perhaps we might just allow the conversation to grow organically," she sat back in the chair once more and sipped on the wine. "I tire of rigidity and formality. Can't we just be friends for the night?"

He flashed a smile, worrying about Cersei and King's Landing. "Of course we can. But with my friends we discuss whores and wine," he looked at her for a reaction, but she did not flinch. "So…"

"So what of whores and wine?" she smiled.

"I like them both very much," he returned her smile, and poured out some more.


	2. Chapter 2

"I cannot claim the same affinity for them, but wine is often just the thing," Dany sipped sitting back, and looking out of the mouth in the split of the room.

"Wine is always just the thing," Tyrion drank long.

She smiled to herself. "Have you always drank?"

"As long as I can remember."

"And is it a comfort to you?"

"Comfort? Well, it's as much as part of me as is this scar on my face. So perhaps it's a comfort. But I think it's more of a blemish."

Dany nodded. "Yes," she said softly. And she thought inexplicably of Drogo. "Men often seek that which gives them the most pleasure."

"Don't women?"

"No. No…they seek ways in which to survive."

His gaze found the hearth. "It's a sorry world…those who offer life are so often the greatest sufferers."

"Why must men assert their strength and damage women as they do?"

"Have you been damaged by men, Dany?" he looked at her, a touch disbelieving.

"Well, I've had my share, yes."

"Who would dare?" he smirked.

"It's not a laughing matter. I have been maltreated by men. In fact, I'd wager that it's been _only_ men who have mistreated me…" she paused. "But I have not yet met your sister."

"No," he smiled. "You have not. And she is something, I can assure you."

"I've heard that."

"But our Queen has suffered at the hands of evil men. Are you going to tell me about it?" he poured her more wine.

Dany sat back with her wine. "It's really not worth revisiting. I have been, and that's all."

"But if you do not wish to discuss strategy…"

She sighed. "You insist, is that it?"

Tyrion shrugged noncommittally.

"My brother."

He nodded.

"He…" she dropped her gaze. "He was often aggressive with me. Suggestive."

"Did he…?"

"No. No he didn't. But that doesn't mean that it never entered his thoughts. That I didn't feel, occasionally, threatened by him and what he could do to me."

"I'm sorry."

A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "We both of us have intolerable siblings."

"Yes," he sat back fully, noticing now how the room had darkened, and the chill seeped in. The day was ending, and there would be supper to consider. "Shall I send for more wine before eventide and supper?"

"Is it that time?" she looked over once more at the cavernous opening. Yes, the sun had reached the horizon.

"So it would seem."

"I think we should eat elsewhere. It's cold in here despite the fire."

He nodded. "I'll see to it in the hall…"

"No. In the room adjacent to mine. It's smaller," Dany stood. "And I should be retiring soon. We have work to do," she left.

And Tyrion was left there, wondering at what had just transpired. He supposed she was in search of some comfort…things were not what she had been expecting, he assumed, upon her arrival. Though he couldn't really be sure what she had anticipated. She knew there would be conflict and a challenge to her claim.

Cersei would not simply allow her to come in with her dragons and rule.

Perhaps she was unsure of her claim…perhaps her doubt was less about those who might usurp her, than she herself.

He sighed and stood, ringing the little bell. A servant came, and he ordered supper for the two of them in her quarters…

Then made his way to them.

* * *

Daenerys was brushing her hair. She had just changed her clothes, and she was staring at herself in the mirror.

She thought that she knew herself. She knew she could be ruthless…but not cruel. Not to those who did not deserve it, anyway.

She sighed and rubbed her face. It would not do. She needed to remain true to herself. She had not changed all that much.

She used to have a moral compass…she knew what was right and wrong, without question. But the further she traveled in this world, the less sure she was. There were so many shades of grey. So many times in which circumstances clouded any definitive answer.

She had begun to realize that she did not understand much, and supposed that that was what people called wisdom.

Dany missed the naiveté of youth.

"Your Majesty?"

She turned to see Tyrion in her small sitting room, standing, peering through her nearly closed door. It appeared as though he was attempting to see if she was in there. "Just a moment," she called.

She did enjoy his company. "Have a seat," she said, sitting down.

The room was round, a corner of Dragonstone. It had a wooden floor, softening it against much of the stone of the castle. There were two small windows, and the table was next to them, settled in between them. Dany had a tapestry on the wall closest to her room, and the torches were lit. There was a small table by the door with some native flowers on it, but since winter was now descending, there were only a few blooms to be found.

"I ordered a meal to be brought here for us."

She nodded. "And wine?" she smirked.

"Of course, wine. I see you don't keep your quarters stocked."

"No. As I had said, I do not require constant refreshment."

"It is a burden I bear. Though not altogether unwillingly."

"And does it quell loneliness, aid in forgetfulness, or supply happiness?" she folded her hands on her lap.

"All, I imagine," and the servant brought some stew, as well as the wine.

Dany tasted it while Tyrion poured the wine. "What do you believe makes a good ruler?"

He eyed her over the cup, sat the carafe down, and sipped. "Vision."

She nodded. "No code of ethics?"

"Ethics are intertwined in the vision. Everything is."

"And what do you see as my vision?"

"You wanted to break the wheel, if memory serves."

Dany swallowed. She picked up the cup and drank long…"I did say that, yes," after she drained it and poured herself some more.

A confused look betook his countenance. "Is this no longer the case?"

"I …" she paused. Truth be told, she was a bit fearful of what she thought. "No. It is. But I'm also aware that things are not as simple as breaking the wheel. I cannot expect to come to Westeros and tell everyone that I am the Queen that they need. I need to, in many ways, prove myself."

Tyrion nodded. "Wise words."

"But they are not merely words. They are fact. And I am only just realizing that."

He considered her a moment, then took a bite of the stew. He swallowed, looking out of the window closest to him. "Well, there is certainly something to be said for humility."

"I don't feel particularly humble."

"Most Queens don't, or aren't."

She smiled at him. "No…I don't suppose they are," she played with her food a bit. "Why do you work in politics, Tyrion?"

"It's what I know," he replied matter of factly.

"Have you no passion for it, though? Might not you be an able monarch?"

"I'm not sure I follow."

"It's been my experience that those who do not wish to rule are often the most suited for it. I do not know if I am an exception or not," she paused. "I suppose I'd like to think that I am. But it may not be the case…recent events have rendered me confused."

"Are you referring to the episode today?"

She nodded. "But not only that. It's also the gradual transformation I've made from a wayward, nameless princess, to a conquerer and queen. I do not know if this way is the best way any longer. I stole my brother's dream…I've never really had my own."

"Well. This is a surprise," he smiled. "You are unsure…and you are asking me if I might…what?"

Dany shrugged. "Even I am not certain. Advise me."

"Of your own mind?"

She swallowed. Was that what she was asking of him? Her gaze fell, and she played with the hem of her dressing gown. "It's a strange place I find myself, Lord Tyrion. It's not so much that I doubt my ability to rule, or indeed, to conquer. I doubt, rather, my resolve to do it."

"You don't want it?" he replied, disbelieving.

"I …do not know. Yes, I want the Iron Throne. But I'm wondering if I deserve it."

"It's precisely that you're thinking about this at all that you more than deserve it! Do you think, for one minute, that your father ever doubted his right to King's Landing? Do you think that Robert Baratheon once thought that perhaps he should step down? And do you think…" his voice fell to nearly a whisper. "…that _any_ of Cersei's sons didn't believe wholeheartedly that they were deserving of the title, _King_?"

"No," she answered softly. "I do not," she stood and looked out of the window. "But I am not those men. Nor am I your sister," she turned to look at him now.

"You most certainly are not," he said, looking at her very directly. "But Cersei will be looking for a weakness. _Any_ weakness," he swallowed. "Don't give her one."

"I cannot let my mind be corrupted by one woman," she sat down again.

"So, you poison it yourself?" he spat.

"I'm confiding my most ardent fears and thoughts. Things that I have not intimated to anyone. And this is to be my reception?"

He sighed, a solemn look on his face. "Daenerys. You have tasked me with your most trusted position as your Hand. And I can only advise you as I see fit for your rule. If you do not want to rule, then you need to tell me now, so that I might resign my post and find someplace to hide while the winter falls."

She looked at him, disbelieving. "You'd leave me?"

"I'm the Hand of the Queen. If there is no Queen, then there is no need for a Hand."

"But what about a friendship?"

"Are you in earnest? Can this be so? After crossing desert and sea, you're going to abandon it all…for what?" he sat back, staring at her.

She smirked a bit. "Wishful thinking," and she paused. "Where would you go, if money was not a concern, winter was not coming, and there was no threat of war?"

He licked his lips, poured more wine. She wanted to be humored. She was scared of something, and she was playing some silly game as a means to avoid her fears. He sipped, agitated, and sat back again. "Where would I go if I could go anywhere without fear or debt?"

She nodded.

"The Summer Islands. They laud wine and pleasure above all else, and the place is always warm and always beautiful."

"For someone who has a magnificent mind, you spend much time concerned with pleasures of the flesh."

He shrugged noncommittally. "Perhaps it is because of my mind that I understand that the pleasures that our flesh affords is fleeting, and we are wise to enjoy them while we can," he paused, noting how odd all of this was. "Where would you go?"

"The Shadow Lands."

"Isn't that a terrifying place?"

"It's where my babies are from."

He nodded. Of course, she'd want to see where they came from. It made sense.

"…and as my friend," she continued. "I'd want for you to accompany me," she smiled.

He cleared his throat. "Dany, what is it that you're trying to suggest here?"

"Only that we are friends."

His mouth twitched. "And what does that entail, in your estimation?"

"I'm not certain…"

"We are here, in your quarters, eating supper and drinking wine."

"Yes."

"And you were just implying that I should accompany you on a long and tedious journey."

Her face paled. "As my friend."

He was getting angry, for he felt as though he was being used. What he was being used _for,_ he couldn't rightly say. "But I am your advisor, and we shouldn't confuse things."

"No one is confused. At least, I am not so. Perhaps you are, Lord Tyrion."

"I am no Lord," he stood in anger, then collected himself. "Apologies. I think it's best if I retire," he nodded, and left.

Daenerys swallowed, feeling her cheeks flush slightly.

She could not deny that there was something amiss in the way she was just speaking with him…

But she could not say what, exactly, or why.


	3. Chapter 3

She felt humiliated.

When did she become so indecisive and desperate?

Because yes. She was desperate.

Not for attention, but for friendship…she wanted a friend, and it hurt when he would not admit to her that he was her friend.

Dany pulled the wrap closer and looked out of the window. Why was it so important that he was her friend? She had Missandei…

She looked down as she swallowed.

What was happening to her? She hardly recognized herself.

Dany went to her bed and laid down. She was exhausted, and desired nothing more than to close her eyes and rest.

* * *

Tyrion had arrived back in his chambers shaking a bit. He couldn't decide if he was upset or not, and this was causing disquiet. He had been wondering at his reactions to the Queen lately. Her attentions were distracting and he misliked it. He had a job to do, and she was preventing it.

He poured himself some wine and sat at his small table. He wasn't tired…at least not in the sense that he required sleep.

He was tired in that everything was exhausting, and he wanted it all to be over, one way or another.

He was tired of machinations and trying to outsmart Cersei. He was tired of being afraid of losing. Tired of trying to stay one step ahead.

In truth, though he was honored to have been the chosen Hand, he was feeling as though he may not have been the best choice. He felt tainted by his affiliation to the Queen sitting on the Iron Throne. By his dwarfism.

He sat and poured more wine. Some day, this would be the death of him.

This caused him concern but little. There were worse ways to die, he'd seen it. Seen too much, if he was being honest.

Which he seldom was.

Tyrion looked out of the window. He was honest to Daenerys, really. Mostly. He had given her his honest opinion on most things. Told her what he knew.

But there were things that he had never intimated to her, or to anyone. To do so would have been suicide.

He barely admitted some of them to himself.

Tyrion knew that Jaime had thrown Bran Stark from that tower…he could guess why. But he hadn't really said anything, not really. So much had happened because of that…that one incident.

And so much had happened because of Jaime and Cersei's relationship. So much pain…he wondered how much longer his brother would tolerate her. Jaime was a good enough man.

He sipped and closed his eyes.

He wasn't even certain any longer what he was trying to accomplish. Once upon a time he had been trying to survive. Then he was trying to impress his father enough to have him accept him. Then he searched for love. Then power and influence.

Then wine.

He was drinking himself to death, and he really did not care. He didn't care because he had no idea what he was living for any longer.

But then, he thought, who did, really? In this realm, in this age…who _wanted_ to live for the sake of living? Most were just terrified to die.

Or terrified of pain.

He opened his eyes. He wasn't terrified any longer. No, he was not scared.

There was a soft knock on his door. He looked over at it, surprised at its presence. "Come in," he called, sipping again.

He heard the door open, and he looked over at its closing.

Daenerys was standing there, looking at him.

He stood immediately, and cleared his throat. "Your Highness," he nodded. "Pardon me, but was there something I forgot upon my departure?"

She shook her head. "Might I sit down?"

"Of course," and he waited for her to sit, then sat across from her.

"I am come to apologize."

"I'm sorry?"

"I suppose I was a bit too playful just now. But in my defense, things have been so very dire for so very long…perhaps a reprieve was warranted."

He nodded. "Indeed, a reprieve is always good, if one executes it in wise measure."

She swallowed. "Tyrion…?"

"Hm?" he looked at her deliberately as she played with the hem once more of her dressing gown. He had never seen her so unsettled.

"Why did you kill your father?"

He sighed. "Why are you asking me this now?"

"Because," and she looked at him. "You promised to tell me. Because I am not sleepy. And because I do not wish to be alone."

He looked rather with some sympathy. It would be torturous to tell this…he had done a good job in burying the whole episode. "Well, I suppose I did, didn't I?"

She nodded, and sat back.

He played with his cup, then poured some more. Daenerys stood and retrieved two more carafes of it, placing them on the table. "You keep much of the stuff."

He smiled. "You're about to discover why," he downed an entire cup. He looked out into the dark that was cloaking the night. "My birth killed my mother," he began. "Everything begins in my life with death, it seems. And once she was dead, my sister decided that I was not worth the trouble to love," he looked at her then poured more wine, his gaze fixed on the carafe. "So I lived at Casterly Rock, a dwarf and a shadow. Jaime was the only person who paid me any attention, and while it stung at first, I learned to live with it. My father never cared much for me. He was mostly ashamed," he drank long of his wine. "And I hid myself away. Existed mostly in shadows…"

"And because he was ashamed of you, you murdered him?"

"I haven't finished, Your Grace."

Dany blanched, nodded, and waited.

"…no one noticed me. And though I believed that I preferred it that way, it was a lonesome existence. And I wanted to be loved, much like anyone," he sighed. It would do no good to review everything that had transpired…"After Robert Baratheon took the throne, the Lannisters were very welcome. Cersei married the King, and Jaime was named Kingsguard. This was a choice that caused some discontent, but not enough to stop it from happening. And I was there. And father looked to me for very little, but when he did, it was for logic and policy," he drained his cup and poured some more. "I thought that I was making him proud on some level. I believed that he valued my opinion…" his voice trailed and he cleared his throat. "There was a woman…a common whore…who I had taken up with on my travels from the North to King's Landing…"

"What was her name?"

"Shae," he said without feeling. "And she…she was…a bit different. I believed that she cared for me, at least a little."

"And you loved her," Dany said softly.

"And I loved her. But it did not matter, because in the end, I am a dwarf," his voice was acid. "In the end, when I was put on trial for the death of King Joffrey, my nephew, she betrayed me. In the end, I went to visit my father after Jaime helped me escape the dungeon, and she was in his chambers, waiting to fuck him…" he spat. "And after I'd killed her, I took a crossbow to him, and murdered him on the shitter. But only after he disowned me," he finished, emotion raw in his throat. "They left me nothing. I had nothing. And I was smuggled in a box on a ship while reeling from what I had done," he smiled. "And brought to Your Highness."

Her mouth was agape. "Tyrion…"

"Please, do not pity me."

"No. I don't think that I do."

He nodded. "I am a wicked person, Daenerys. I am not to be trusted."

"A poor recommendation for my Hand," she smiled.

"Yes. About that…"

She sat straight in the chair, the command of the Queen she was taking hold. "You'll not be resigning your post. I do not care what your past holds. It is your past, and it stays there."

"I often wonder how all of this came to be," he looked at her deliberately.

"I believe you just told me."

He sat back smiling. "You are a worthy Queen. I am honored to be your Hand."

Dany nodded.

"However, that does not mean that I am the best choice for the post. I'm afraid that I've been experiencing some doubt where this is concerned."

She sighed, looking at him. She knew that this was the case. "And if I do not share those doubts?"

"I think that you'll find that my doubts are persuasive. You would be wise to heed them."

"What are your concerns?" she thought it best to entertain him, that way she could dismiss his notions of not being her Hand in turn.

"I am a Lannister. I am a dwarf. I am not trusted in this realm. I remind the people of everything horrible that has happened in Westeros. My face should not be associated with your rule."

"And what is the matter with your face?"

He swallowed, ran his finger along the rim of his cup, then took it away and smiled. "Your Majesty, please. Do not placate me," and he looked at her now. "I know what I am. You do not need to issue false proclamations."

"I am doing no such thing," she said, a note of severity in her voice. "And all I see before me is my Hand. And though I have been doubting things as of late, and even, at times, him, I know what my Hand is."

His mouth was slightly open. "What is he?"

She smiled. "The wisest person I know."

He had to admit, that was a bit disappointing. He was hoping for something more substantive in her statement. He had been called wise before…"Thank you."

Dany folded her hands on her lap. She did not waver in her gaze. And she nodded. And something compelled her to go to him, to embrace him…to hold him, because she knew that that was not something that he would experience, and it was something that she could give.

So Daenerys stood and went to where Tyrion sat. She knelt before him and pulled him into a hug. She felt him stiffen, he was unaccustomed to such displays. But she did not yield, and held him closer. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "For ever doubting you," and she pulled away, and his hand was on her elbow, and she laid her palm on his shoulder as she came to look at him.

They were very close.

And something like synchronicity bade them stay…for they were so alike in so many ways, yet so completely different. Her song was different from his.

But together, they created tonality.

She leaned toward him.

And his breath hitched.

And she found his mouth.

And she kissed him…it was timid at first for both, and he wanted to deepen it, but he, too, was reticent. This was not happening…his rational brain told him it was but a dream.

But in dreams, there are no consequences.

So he did, and Dany moaned a touch.

He wrapped his right hand around her head, his left came to rest on her collar bone.

She placed one palm on his chest, her other was at his neck.

And they lazed on for what seemed a while, yet not long enough.

She pulled away in a pant.

He searched her face in some desperation.

She smiled at him. "That was unexpected."

"Does it follow that it was unwelcome?"

"No. It does not," their hands had not moved. Her eyes fell a touch. She wasn't certain how to act. She wasn't sure what she wanted.

"Are you all right?" he asked, a line creasing his brow somewhat.

Dany nodded. "Are you?"

He smiled. "Of course."

She stood at that. She turned, and walked to his bed. Dany crawled in and said, "Is my Lord tired?"

He cleared his throat and stood. "Not in the slightest."

And he joined her.


End file.
